


Ghosts of the Present and the Past

by tersa (alix)



Series: Dragon Age:Lillian [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, Comfort Sex, F/M, Frenemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alix/pseuds/tersa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lillian Tabris and Nathaniel Howe are not friends, at best frenemies, but after a sleep plagued by nightmares of painful losses--she of Alistair, he of his father--they find a certain kind of strange comfort with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts of the Present and the Past

I rode Alistair and knew joy. I knew in the back of my head there was something wrong, but I didn’t care, lost in the moment of being with him. His hands wrapped around my waist, and he thrust upwards hard, a moan stuttering out, and filled me. I was on the cusp, pressure building inside of me on the verge of release.

His words rang out, clear and true. “As if you have a choice.”

He shoved me hard, and I flew through the air, crashing to the ground with a curious lack of pain. Shocked, disoriented, the pressure in my midsection did not subside, in fact, increased. I was swelling, ever larger, legs engulfed in my expanding abdomen, arms becoming vestigial atop a shapeless mountain of flesh full to the point of bursting.

Then explode I did, a flood of darkspawn vomiting up from between my still damp thighs, their harsh cries and screeches a mockery of newborns. Horror consumed me as I drew my sword, horror and anguish, that I would kill them, kill my own children, my children with Alistair.

* * *

  
I woke to a face damp from the tears streaming down my cheeks, my chest feeling crushed and empty in the aftermath of the raw power of emotions from the dream. I didn’t want to move, feeling irrationally safer cocooned in the layer of thick blankets, but at the same time, the small bedroom seemed too isolated and cutoff from the rest of the Keep to stay in. I needed to be somewhere else, somewhere safe that felt of people.

Slipping out from beneath the covers, I ducked into a thigh-length shirt and stuck my feet into the house shoes next to the bed. A heavy fur cloak wrapped around myself restored some of the illusion of safety provided by the covers. I lit a candle and left the room, ghosting through the hallways, down to the ground floor and the kitchen at the back.

I disliked being there when the Orlesian cook, Genvieve, was awake and working, feeling the frigid dislike rolling off her in palpable waves, but in the deep of night, before she and her assistants rose to begin the morning bread and the stews that would serve for lunch and dinner for most of the Keep, it was quiet, empty, the banked fires putting out gentle heat that was welcome now that fall was here. It reminded me of my home back in the Alienage, with the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, and tonight, I needed that comfort. Snagging a clever handpie Genvieve had invented, filled with dried apples, honey, and some of the Howe’s precious spices, and a mug of mead, I found a seat near the hearth, back pressed up against the warm stones, tucked my knees to my chest, and ate slowly, willing the sweet food and drink to dispel the blackness clutching at my heart.

The scuff of footsteps outside the door I’d left ajar alerted me of another presence, and reflexively I reached for a weapon that wasn’t there. I froze instead, becoming part of the shadows cast by the candle, until a man’s voice called out cautiously, “Hello?”

I relaxed again, recognizing it as Nathaniel’s. “Come in, it’s just me.”

He threaded his way through the tables and barrels to find me, his expression quizzical but his tone polite as he put a knuckle to his forehead. “Commander.”

Irritation burst through me, reflected in my face. “Oh, stop that.” I sighed, catching myself and remembered my place. “Were you looking for me?”

“No,” he drawled out with uncertainty, eyes flicking to the mug in one hand and the half-eaten pie in the other. “I think we had the same idea.”

“Well, go help yourself,” I said with a wave of my hand towards the platter. On impulse, I added, “Will you join me? Please?” I hadn’t meant to ask like that, but it had spilled out of me. I was suddenly very tired and very lonely.

He dipped his chin slowly in assent, helping himself to a pie and a mug of wine, then returning to the hearth. He pulled up a stool probably used by the spitboy, stopped halfway to a seat, and shifted, to sit on the stones a couple of metres from me instead.

We were silent for some time, as he began to eat, perhaps lost in thought, as was I, thinking of how little contact I’d had with anyone alone like this since arriving at Vigil’s Keep. There were so much to do, I was rarely here, and when I was, I was generally in meetings with Varel, training, or sleeping. No time for actually being with someone, talking, getting to know them.

I glanced over at Nathaniel sidelong. The flickering candelight carved deep shadows in his angular face, and he looked as pensive as I felt. His gaze darted to me when I turned my head, then away, down to his hands in his lap. “You told us we should tell you if we ever had any dreams about the darkspawn,” he said quietly. “I guess I need to do that.”

A jolt of fear spiked my pulse. “What happened?”

“I don’t remember a lot of details,” he said in the same hushed voice. “All I can remember now is that I discovered my father was one of the talking darkspawn, and—“ He cut off, and I could see him swallow hard. His tone turned bleak, “I had to kill him.”

Still feeling raw in the aftermath of my own nightmare, the tangled welter of emotions rose up to swamp me. My fingers gripped the cup in my hand until the joints cracked, something real I could hold onto. “That had to be difficult for you.”

His laugh was soft and breathy, a short bark that he swallowed off. “Yes, and no. I know now what a terrible man he was, and I knew that in the dream, too. Plus, darkspawn,” he added. “But…yes. I could still feel his disapproval and…felt ashamed.”

I leaned my head back to rest against the walls of the fireplace and closed my eyes, struggling for composure that was hard to find. My voice rasped. “I had a…” I stopped and had trouble continuing. But I made myself do it. “Something similar.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head turn to look at me, sensed the unspoken question, but I resisted it. I dropped my chin to my chest. “It’s why I’m here.” I brought the cup of mead up to my lips and tossed it back in a single gulp, focusing on the immediate burn as it went down my throat.

He grunted, understanding, I supposed, and took a drink from his own goblet before responding. “I wish you would have warned us about the dreams before the Joining, and the Call. I might’ve changed my mind about how bad being executed was as an option.”

I didn’t bother to reply to that; it was an old accusation, and one I’d come to terms with a long time ago. They still didn’t know the ultimate price they might be called upon to do. I’d had to pay it, but I wanted to allow them their hope a little longer.

After a time of silence, I said, “I suppose I should retire.” I pushed to my feet, and he followed.

The mead went right to my head as I managed to get upright, and I swayed against him. He reached out to catch me, likely in reflex, but it hit me like a fire. He was warm, and it felt _good_ to have arms around me, and from the catch in his breath and the sudden trembling, I thought he had the same reaction. Without thinking, because thinking was death at that moment, I tilted my head up to kiss him, and it was like a drink of cold water on a hot, dry day. I wanted more, and continued to kiss him, feeling his response, until he broke away, breathing rapidly. “What—“

I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck, keeping his face close, and my cloak parted, bringing my scantily clad body against his. I heard his sharp intake of breath, felt it curl across my face, before I pleaded in a throaty whisper, “Please. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Understanding seemed to show in his eyes. Understanding, or an echoing yearning. I saw pain and vulnerability there, before his mouth came down to crush against mine, and I was carried away by desire.

* * *

  
I awoke again that night in a strange bed, the barest hint of grey edging the heavy curtains over the windows of Nathaniel’s room suggesting the approach of dawn. Slipping out from under the blankets, I let my eyes adjust then cautiously searched for my shirt and cloak.

Perhaps he was as light a sleeper as I, because even that stealthy motion woke him. Behind me, he rolled over on the mattress, the ropes creaking and the straw crunching, to apply flint to steel. A small candle flared to light, casting bare illumination, enough for me to retrieve my clothing and pull it on.

Turning, I found he had done the same, but sat on the bed, not quite looking at me. It was awkward, obviously for both of us. I decided there was no way around it, and headed around his bed towards the door, intent to say nothing, but then he spoke, and his words brought me up short.

“Did you love him, this Alistair, or was he just another tumble, too?”

I spun on a heel gaping at him in surprise for the name. “What?”

“You called out his name,” he said glibly, locking a hand around the opposite wrist as his arms rested atop his upbent knees. “Was it the ba—King?” he corrected himself. “Or someone who shared the name?”

My first impulse was to tell him it was none of his business, to slam the door closed so hard it would snap his curious nose right off, but…I was standing in his bedchamber half-clothed, his scent still on my skin, and he seemed sincere behind the mild bitterness in his tone. “It was the King,” I admitted in a voice almost inaudible. It was hard to talk about, but had been long enough that tears didn’t come. “We fell in love long before he became King, and it ended when he did. Then he died.”

“I know _that_ part of the story,” he said. “Even if you’ve never told us.”

I flinched at the accusation it might imply, but absorbed it with a dash of guilt. Returning to his bedside, I put a hand on his shoulder. He only stiffened a little, and didn’t pull away. “I want to thank you,” I said softly. “For this. I…needed this. It’s been a long time since I remembered what it’s like to be alive.”

It was his turn to seem stunned by my words. Some of the anger leeched out of him, and he reached up a hand to cover my own briefly. “I, too, I think, Commander.”

I withdrew my hand, from his shoulder and his grasp, and slipped out into the empty hallways, another insubstantial denizen haunting the Keep.


End file.
